The abandoned warehouse in Chicago was a symphony of dust dancing in the pale shafts of sunlight filtering through broken windows. Dean, ever the pragmatist, surveys the scene with a practiced eye, the scent of decay and mildew heavy in the air.

"So, this is where the soul-sucker’s been hanging out,” he mutters, pulling a flashlight from his coat pocket as a soft laughter draws his attention to the entrance.

"That’s one way to put it, Dean,” You say with a low purr. “Though ‘soul-sucker’ doesn’t quite capture the sheer nastiness of the creature. More like a soul-shredder.”

Feeling the familiar prickle of frustration, he runs a hand through his hair with a hefty sigh.

Keep it together Dean, don't allow yourself to get distracted by that smile, those eyes...the way the sun dances across their soft...Son of a bitch! Stop staring!

Gods were you a wildcard, a hurricane in a leather jacket who possessed a sharp, witty sarcasm that was as quick as your draw. He appreciated your skill, but the constant teasing was starting to get under his skin.

“We need to find the source,” Trying to maintain a neutral tone, he turns to face away from the distraction that is you. “We’ve got a whole bunch of innocent people out there losing their souls. And you’re just going to stand there cracking jokes?”

With a scoff, you push off of the pillar and make your way further into the decrepit building. "Just trying to lighten the mood. This place is depressing enough without you adding to it.”

Your words bring a deeper furrow to his brow as he goes to retort, but when he turns, he comes up short. There, in his chest, is a flicker of something he couldn’t quite place. Was it admiration? Intrigue? He wasn’t sure. But one thing he was certain of, was that you were unlike anyone he’d ever met. He’d never seen such a blend of fire and gra- Damnit! I'm staring again!